


Love Is Quiet, Too

by shortitude



Series: What There Was Left of Love [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Raven a while until she spends the night in Bellamy’s bed again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Quiet, Too

**Author's Note:**

> So that wraps up the series; we both agreed it would be nice to bring it all full circle, and the last piece being as much about Raven as it is about Bellamy (through Raven's eyes). You'll notice a lack of Wick, because that chapter's over and this one's about the babes. Being babes.

It takes Raven a while until she spends the night in Bellamy’s bed again. 

It’s not because it’s the first time, not by a long shot; it’s not even because she hasn’t tried it without having it be about sex at first. She has never had an issue against gravitating towards Bellamy before, when Finn broke her heart and she’d needed someone to screw the pain right out of her because while she couldn’t be Finn’s girlfriend again she would never stop loving him. Recently, they’ve even given the whole sleeping-and-nothing-else deal a go, and it has been…different. Truth was, up until that moment Raven hadn’t shared the bed with someone for comfort in months; not even Wick, who had assumed he was her something even though she hadn’t lingered longer than five minutes to give him that impression. Had it freaked her out then, that she could be the person who just slept next to someone for comfort? Yes. 

So the strange thing is that now, she’s not freaked out. She thinks she understands a little better where she stands with Bellamy, and more importantly where she stands with herself. The reason it takes her a while until she spends the night there, is she’s being her version of a friend. 

Ever since the first night he’d been open to the possibility, Raven has used Bellamy – his mouth, his body, his hands – to replace pain and discomfort with pleasure, to forget. He has been quiet and _there_ , claiming not to be the kind of person who cared but owning hands that would hold her through grief either way, and he _has_ been a friend. It happens with a shock to the system, but she realizes – the last time they sleep together, the time she touches him while he jerks off, still trembling and smiling from a really good orgasm – that he might be her only actual friend on the ground. 

Which means that he deserves more from her than what she’s been giving him. 

\---

She still sees him, actually. Makes a habit out of taking dinner to his place, because she wants to have reasons beyond sex to enter his tent; it’s her silent way of telling him that she’s there for this too, and he can _stop_ asking her what she wants or needs all the time, ready to get down on his knees to give it to her.

(He is disquieting in his devotion. She doesn’t truly want to call it that yet, because it is one strong sentiment that people should see reciprocated, instead of thrown around at random.)

The thing she learns about Bellamy, once she starts paying attention, is that he doesn’t assume that he is owed anything. He _gives_ , yes; he doesn’t ask for anything else in return. She hasn’t met people like him before. Finn, for all that he was sweet and all that she’d loved him, hadn’t been lacking in selfishness. 

She makes this observation one night when they’re splitting one of the last apples of the season. He hands her a larger slice without looking, automatically, and asks if she’s been feeling the colder weather in her bones too. It’s been at least a week since they’ve had sex; equally long, since they’ve kissed. But though Raven will let her touch linger, and find herself following the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks in the dim light of the tent, she doesn’t try anything. 

She isn’t sure, for one, if he truly wants it or if it’s a strange mix of convenience and a self-sacrificing way of wanting to help; when she needs it from him, he’s there, but if she doesn’t want it he’s alright with that situation too. He’s confusing her, which is embarrassing, because boys just _don’t_ confuse Raven Reyes. 

Or they shouldn’t. 

He’s okay with them not doing anything physical. He seems pleased whenever she says goodnight with a short little hug, so that at least tells her that he does care. And that’s good, because – and this, Raven admits to herself without an aching twist in her stomach – she cares too. 

She cares about _him_ , which is exactly why she is fine with nothing else but dinner on his low bed and occasionally talking about work during the joint lunches. 

It only becomes clear how much _he_ needs, later.

\---

It was inevitable that the Council would vote yes on returning to Mount Weather, if only to – at the very least – strip it of its resources for the surviving victors of that war. 

What happens is that they write the roster of people assigned to go back, and Bellamy’s name is right there at the top. They do it during working hours, while Raven is working on the side of the electric fence that went down during a storm one day before, so she’s there to witness it. 

She sees the blood draining from Bellamy’s face as soon as he sees his name on the list, she sees how dangerously close to losing his grip on the hammer in his hand he is, she notices the quiet storm behind his eyes even from afar. It sends her into motion, and she sidesteps the toolbox and heads over, a knot in her throat. Bellamy, meanwhile, moves towards Kane; unintentionally, she catches the last heated whispers of the conversation:

“—need you there. You know the place inside out better than anyone, and you can show them where the incinerators are, for the bodies.” From Kane, to Bellamy; he might as well have used knives instead of words. To his credit, Kane seems to realize where he’d shoved his foot in his mouth, because he starts and tries to make amends. It’s too late, however. 

The “ _No_ ,” Bellamy says sounds like a wretched thing. A second later, he is brushing past her and back to his tent. 

(The things she won’t share with Bellamy later:

How she walks up to Kane, all fury and tension, and snaps in his face “You’re going to run out of soldiers to protect your asses if you people insist on breaking every one of us first.” 

Shame, too; Bellamy’s the kind of guy who’d have enjoyed hearing about her fighting the system.) 

When she pushes the flap aside and steps into his space, it’s to find him sitting down on his bed, elbows on his knees and head hung forward. He’s not moving – not even to look up when she comes in – except for the part where he’s breathing shallow breaths, as though he’s struggling to manage even that.

Without second-guessing herself, she walks up to him, and curls her hand his shoulder. She doesn’t believe it’ll make him flinch; they’re too used to each other’s touch by now. She’s right, because all it does it make him exhale – finally – one long and shuddery breath, leaning forward under her touch. Not missing a beat, she steps forward in the space between his legs, and runs her hand up to press it to the nape of his neck, keeping her grip solid and grounding. 

She doesn’t need to ask him why the idea of returning to Mount Weather is terrifying to him. The way he paled at the word _bodies_ , the memories she has of every Mountain inhabitant falling over dead; Raven’s not been called a genius for nothing. She’s figured it out before, but it only becomes clear now that he needs someone to understand him too. Accept him as he is. 

Maybe she might be that one person, because he has no qualms against eventually leaning in until his forehead rests against her ribs. She runs her hand up and down his neck, his back, and murmurs quiet words that make sense only to people who are too lost to think.

Minutes later, his breathing gradually back to normal, is when the shift happens. She doesn’t expect it from him first, but she doesn’t flinch from it either. He lifts his hands and wraps them tight around her, and when he pulls her closer she goes; so pliant to the silent suggestion that in no time, she’s straddling his lap. He rests his forehead against her shoulder, quiet for a few moments, a grateful little sound from the deep of his chest when she doesn’t stop rubbing his neck. This time, when Bellamy turns his head and kisses the skin where her neck meets her shoulder, she only holds her breath for a second before tilting her head sideways to give him more space. 

He follows the line of her throat, and drowns a desperate sigh into her mouth, his hands cupping her face like that keeps him from floating away; Raven, having been there before on countless occasions when they’d kissed, understands and lets him. She only stays passive for the first few seconds, to let him be sure it’s what he wants too – she’s not the one asking for this, this time, and maybe a part of Raven really did believe that if not for the interest on her part, he wouldn’t want her or need her – but the way he kisses her spells out his answer and evaporates all doubts. 

So she whispers against his mouth, “Whatever you need,” and lets him pull her down to the bed. Lets him cover her body with his, lets him kiss her until he feels human and good and solid again. She kisses him back, too, until he manages a small smile against her lips. They’re still both on shift, however, and haze they’re in breaks eventually, and with it their kiss as well. 

When she pulls back to press her forehead to his, when he opens his eyes and just looks at him for another moment of quiet understanding, a tenderness washes over Raven. It would be unfair to say it’s unexpected; she remembers being kind and soft and gentle once, before, and she’s remembering how to be that person now. That it’s with Bellamy isn’t unwelcome, and isn’t that the funniest thing?

She pushes a curl of his hair behind his ear, and lets her hand linger there. “Okay?” 

“Better.” 

And people like them, they haven’t been through all they have and felt magically okay with a few kisses. But _better_ is as good as it gets, and it leaves them both satisfied. 

It’s not much, she keeps thinking once they’re standing, once they get back to their respective duties as if they hadn’t been missing half an hour; it’s not much what she could do for him, but if Bellamy claimed it had been enough, then she has to trust him that it’s true.

\---

That very evening, he’s the one who shows up in her workshop first. 

Normally, she’s very good at picking up the vibe of someone just nosing around before asking a difficult question; Finn used to do this a lot, and there’s a reason Raven can’t shake off her habit of leaving warning post-its on everything flammable. So all she has to do this time, is pause in putting away the radios she’s fixed today, and look at him until he stops pretending like he understands the gadget he’s been nodding at for the past ten seconds. 

When he looks up to find her staring, he starts – all curly-haired doe in the headlights – and it’s just a hint adorable. So Raven doesn’t snap, she just shakes her head to ask _what_.

“I was going to ask,” he starts, quiet and solemn after seconds, the shift so sudden that it sobers her up. “If I could spend the night.”

For a few seconds, Raven forgets to exhale. See, if they had been the type of friends to have rules, the unwritten rules would’ve said something about it always being Raven who decided the when, where and for how long of every time. He hasn’t been demanding, he hasn’t _asked_ for anything until now – not beyond asking what he could do for her.

Bellamy has never stricken her as a selfish person, more the opposite, and maybe it was a key reason why she’d trusted him what feels like months ago. Why she trusts him now, too, in a sense. 

She diverts her gaze, and gives him a short little nod, before pushing a box full of radios to the edge of the desk. “Put these up on that shelf,” she instructs, and they set about cleaning up together. 

A few minutes later, she leads him back to her tent, not caring how many people see them both step inside together. 

Once inside, she takes off her boots and her brace, and scoots towards the pillow to let him sit down and do the same with his shoes. The ground is solid and cold under her feet, a little cracked as an effect of the weather, and she shifts back to pull her feet off the ground. 

Then, the quiet ice-breaker: “So what now?” from her lips. Not bold, not challenging; she’s not feeling either of those emotions now, she’s almost shy with wonder and anticipation. (But not small; never small, not with him.) Again, she tries: “What do you need?” 

Bellamy, he takes his time to voice his request, as if his words are rusty from how rarely he’s gotten to before. “Just you. Just to stay here, if that’s okay.” 

It’s both familiar and very new, to be needed again. Wanted, she has gotten used to, but for her to be necessary to someone is almost novel given how long ago it happened the last time. Weeks ago, it would’ve been a tall question for him to ask and he would’ve known it. But now, however tall a question it might’ve been, it is something that Raven can more than do.


End file.
